


False Awakening

by Draughtofpeace



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, One Shot, Post-War, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27455716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draughtofpeace/pseuds/Draughtofpeace
Summary: Falling asleep during her detention with Snape creates a situation for Hermione to learn a rather hard lesson in discipline.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 2
Kudos: 65
Collections: Page 394 Guy Fawkes Bonfire Exchange 2020





	False Awakening

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nekositting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekositting/gifts).



> A HUGE thank you to the wonderful BrightneeBee who not only beta and alpha read this fic, but was also incredibly encouraging and helpful throughout the entire process. <3

Tilting her head back like a diver coming up for air, her lungs expanded with an audible gasp. Now conscious, Hermione felt the elusive trace of cold fingers across her parched lips, as the scent of Peppermint Spirits invaded her nose.

Blindfolded and disoriented, Hermione's hands began to perspire as her heart fluttered against the walls of her throat.

To her rear, faint, padded footsteps drifted away and then quieted, creating a suspension in time that unnerved her. The screeching of a chair drawn against the floor cut through her thoughts like a sharp blade. And then it all stilled behind her, so close that the body heat radiating against her spine enveloped her. The warmth subconsciously pulled her back as her cold, bare frame sought refuge. 

“P-Please let me go–please. I’ve nothing to offer,” Hermione pleaded, squirming in an attempt to break free of the intangible bindings around her ankles and wrists.

A heavy hand gripped her shoulder with a hush, and she shuddered, whimpering in response. Her toes and fingers curled as the large hand slowly made its way up the length of her neck, appearing to savor every inch of flesh and bone. Broad fingers weaved through her curls, wrapping around the cold tresses with a tug backwards. 

She gulped in trepidation. 

The hand now lay over her forehead, pressing the back of her head firmly against the crook of a neck. Turning towards her, the person rested their chin against the side of her face, an incipient beard rubbing against her cheek as long hair draped over the crown of her head. It was a man.

The subtle smell of sage and cauldron fumes suffocated her further as Hermione felt his breath like a shroud of heat against her ear when he finally spoke. 

“Now, now, Miss. Granger... Where is that revered Gryffindor fortitude? Ah, yes. It only seems to reveal itself when reinforcements are present,” The man droned deliberately into her ear. “Speaking of your little friends–Where is Potter hiding?” 

That commanding drawl was unmistakable, robust and pervasive, and lingering dangerously over vowels and consonants like a serpent winding around its prey. She recognized it immediately, tensing under his dominion, but unable to hold her tongue.

“You sit here speaking of fortitude like you understand its meaning! Its significance! You’re nothing but a murderer, and a traitor!” Hermione’s face twisted in revulsion as he released her with a snarl. “But, worst of all, you’re a bloody coward, Snape!”

“There it is,” Snape sneered with an odd sense of satisfaction playing in his tone. He untied her blindfold jarringly, flinging it aside. Around her, Snape came into Hermione’s field of vision as she observed the usual vicious curl at the corner of his mouth.

“You’ll be pleased to learn that the Dark Lord has exhausted my personal reserves of Veritaserum,” Snape dictated as he sauntered forward, taking his usual stance of fingers interlaced over his midsection.

“However,” Snape stopped when the tip of his black dragonhide boot reached her and leaned forward, propping himself as he gripped her forearm. “Should you fail to comply, I will use other, more invasive means to extract Potter’s whereabouts. So, I will ask…one…last…time. Where is Potter?”

Ensnared in the scrutiny of his fathomless glare, Hermione’s nostrils visibly flared as her stomach turned. Filled with indignation, her slender fingers clutched the armrests until her knuckles turned white. Snorting, she heaved forward and spat square in the center of his face. Hermione smirked momentarily as Snape twitched; his jaw visibly clenched as he pressed his lips into a thin, firm line. 

Had Hermione forgotten the vile acts Snape had committed? That, second to Voldemort, he was perhaps the most wanted man in the wizarding world for slaying Albus Dumbledore? That she was at his mercy?

Yes, she had.

“I-I-I,” Hermione stuttered, instantly regretting her impulsiveness. She watched as Snape leisurely ran his sleeve across his face, wiping away her saliva. The enmity and disdain lurking in his eyes belied his impassiveness as he towered over her. 

Without warning or hesitation, Snape pursed his lips and hurled the back of his hand forward, striking Hermione across the face. The sound of skin impacting skin echoed through the empty room, rebounding off the wall as her cheek began to sting from the blow.

Snape leered as tears welled in Hermione’s eyes. Pointing his wand directly at her chest, Snape uttered an unforgivable curse. “ _ Crucio.” _

Hermione screamed in agony as the reverberations of the spell shot through her tenuous nerves like tiny bolts of lightning. It pierced her head with such force that she could not see, could not hear, could not feel anything beyond the indescribable pain. Tossing her head back, she curled her hands into fists as she wished for death.

The room sucked her in like a vortex thwarting her concept of time and space as she felt her wrists being untied and her legs parted further. Hermione’s hand ran down the curve of her belly until she found her slick center. Her middle finger rubbed her clit in a circular motion until her moans occupied the room. 

Untethered to her surroundings, her lips part slightly as she ruminates on the warmth of his body smothering her. Of his hands along her neck. The back of his hand striking her cheek, punishing her for her insolence. Him cursing her into painful oblivion. His dark eyes enthralled as she writhes in pure anguish. Two fingers sink deep into her pussy as her bottom slides down to the edge of the seat. 

**~~~~**

Snape was dragging the tip of his quill over parchment when he heard her moan, at first nothing more than a soft whimper, causing him to look up in search of the sound.

From where he sat, perched over the classroom, he could see Granger’s head, thrown back, lips parted in ecstasy. Legs spread apart; her right hand gripped the edge of her stool while her left rubbed herself raw over the thin layer of knickers. 

Detention, indeed.

Tempted, Snape’s eyes narrowed as he contemplated penetrating her mind, knowing her vulnerability would make it far too easy to slip inside undetected.

He moved closer, dark eyes transfixed as her hips jerked underneath her own touch, completely devoid of inhibitions, unaware that he was watching her. The thought alone made his cock twitch. 

And then he slithered in.

**~~~~**

“Enough!” bellowed Snape as he slammed his palms flat on the table, shaking the glass vials sitting in the racks. The booming noise woke Hermione from her deviant slumber as she looked up to find him hovering over her.

Turning her head towards the clock, Hermione furrowed her eyebrows as she realized it was already half past seven. Looking down at the row of racks, she noted that she had only labeled two out of the one hundred vials. Surely, she had been dreaming and not touching herself in front of Snape? But her fingers felt wet, sticky, and her cunt was throbbing.

Hermione bit down nervously on her bottom lip, lowering her head in ignominy. He could have very well not noticed, Hermione tried to convince herself as she covertly wiped off her fingers along the top of her skirt.

The healers at St. Mungos had determined that the chronic insomnia was a psychosomatic manifestation of the trauma she had experienced during the war. Half a vial of Draught of Peace at night had become customary in order to get some rest, especially when studying for her N.E.W.T.S., but little by little, she had been increasing the dosage as her insomnia became progressively worse and her resistance to the calming effects greater. 

It helped, but at a cost. She had started dozing off in the most inopportune of places, often waking up mid lesson, drenched in sweat and bewildered, unable to distinguish dreams from reality.

The latest episode had occurred in Snape’s classroom and rather than fess up to self-medicating, Hermione blamed the overflowing cauldron on a poorly measured amount of ground ginger and was assigned detention for her carelessness.

“Look at me,” whispered Snape as his fingers flexed against the table. Hermione complied and slowly raised her head until she was staring into his eyes, both of which were much like glistening cuts of black tourmaline gemstone.

“I’m sorry, sir. I stayed up all night studying for exams and I am exhausted. I can continue with the task tonight or finish at another time if it’s-” Hermione began to respond before being swiftly cut off.

“I know, Miss. Granger. I know because you let me in.”

Hermione licked her dry lips as she seized the edges of her chair and broke his gaze. Merlin’s beard, he had legilimised her, and she had allowed it. Even more worrying, she had no recollection of him being inside of her mind whatsoever. 

“It’s not what it seems, sir. I’ve been troubled by nightmares lately.”

“Fascinating,” added Snape as he grabbed a wooden stool and swept around her desk until he was seated right beside her. “If my memory serves me well; nightmares do not provoke the urge to masturbate.” 

Hermione stiffened as he propped himself on the table using his elbow, vaguely leaning towards her, pale fingers steepled. “It is alarming that someone so young, so inexperienced, has these subconscious urges to be tortured, humiliated, beaten…I shudder to think where these little nightmares of yours would have taken you had I not intervened. You ought to work on your deplorable Occlumency skills, Miss Granger. I slipped right in. Did you not feel me delving into every fissure of your mind?” 

Hermione blushed as she glanced sheepishly his way, afraid of making eye contact, afraid he’d push his way into her mind once more.

“Do you think me capable of such inhuman actions, Miss.Granger?” He asked, with false concern.

“No, sir. I do not.” Hermione responded nervously as her eyes darted from his hands, to his eyes, and back down to the dungeon floor. He had the uncanny ability of making her feel mute and powerless. Even now, after all she had accomplished during the war, Snape still made her feel small and unimportant.

She pressed her thighs together as he crept closer and placed his hand over her cheek, his thumb finding her lips before delicately separating them. Glancing around, not focusing on anything in particular, Hermione felt discomfited, not by his advances, but by how he made her body yearn.

“Then I’ll spare no effort to prove you wrong.” Snape sneered as he gripped the hair at the back of her head and pulled her upright. Pushing her backwards against the worktable, Snape pressed the length of his body against her, pinning her in place.

“Please stop, Professor–I,” Hermione interjected, barely unable to speak through the lump forming in her throat. Feeling trapped, she felt his hand find its way to her wrist and drag it towards the small of her back, holding it in place.

“Your actions negate your words, Miss. Granger. I, for one, find your body and mind to be quite acquiescent,” Snape replied dryly.

“Is this not what you wanted? To find yourself at my mercy?” asked Snape as he raised an inquisitive eyebrow and ran a strand of her soft curls through one of his agile fingers.

“Yes,” Hermione whispered, not recognizing her own voice. 

Snape leaned forward until his lips were almost touching hers and whispered, “Yes,  _ sir.” _

Then he crushed his mouth against hers. His tongue parted her trembling lips, pushing past her gritted teeth to revel in the warm, sweet taste hiding within. Hermione moaned as his free hand wrapped around her neck, the coarse pad of his thumb unrelenting against her windpipe, while his tongue explored her mouth languidly, leaving her gasping. 

As quickly as it happened, Snape withdrew. Straightening up, he snaked a finger through the knot of his cravat and jerked it loose. He roped the supple material around her wrists, looping and pulling with precision, until he had her hands securely knotted together, and she turned back away from him, guided forward and down. He didn’t stop the gentle pressure until she was forced forward, stomach and chest recumbent on the workbench.

Snape’s hips thrust against her a, allowing her to feel it; the heat of it, the mass of it. Only for a moment, he gave her a sensory glimpse into what he kept hidden beneath layers of teacher robes.

“Say it, Miss Granger.” He instructed in a low drawl, while placing a warm hand on the back of her thigh, trailing his palm upwards. 

“Yes, sir,” Hermione whimpered, unable to move. 

Hermione’s short, pleated skirt had remained bunched up against the top of her thighs. Her pelvis was pushed against the edge of the workbench by his own. She could feel his confined cock pressing against her knicker clad bottom. It was intimidating, as well as intensely arousing as her pulse quickened with anticipation and dread.

Snape’s hand continued its journey along the backside of her thigh until it found her cunt. Her cotton knickers were soaked through; she was so wet. He ran his fingers over the sodden material with the lightest of touches, like a ghost whispering over her folds, while the pads of his fingers became slick with her desire. 

In the span of seconds, Snape pushed her skirt further up, beneath her forearms, collecting it around her petite waist while the index and middle finger of his right hand curved under the elastic band of her white cotton knickers and sunk into the dripping wet folds of her pussy.

Holding her panties aside, he brought his fingers steadily up to her anus, dark eyes gleaming behind a shade of sleek black hair as he left a trail of her nectar around the rim before returning to her opening.

Hermione moaned as his thick fingers plunged deep into her unexpectedly, her back arching towards him in response as he withdrew them slowly, only to then bury them to the hilt in a controlled tempo. She felt the vicious sting of his short nails bite into her flesh when he gripped her bottom to still her fervent movements, looking down to watch her with a heavy intensity that heightened the pleasure he was giving her, yet chilled her to the bone. It was there, even from her vantage point, bent over a roughened wooden bench, and through the mass of her hair. She could see enough to notice it. 

She took in his long and thick fingers with subtle rolls of her hips when he paused. Sliding up and down the length of his drenched digits, and never caring about how she must look. Snape’s deft fingers stroked her deliberately, rhythmically, and in unison with her panting and moaning. But only until her cunt clenched around him, throbbing on the brink of release. 

Hermione’s chest tightened against the wooden workbench as tears clouded her vision. Her body betrayed her, accepting his fingers with unbridled need, unable to defy his attempts to subjugate her. She felt ashamed by her inability to regulate the way she responded to his touch; she had never felt herself gush as she did under his control, and it infuriated her.

His fingers, besides her own, were the first to touch her, thrust her over the edge as she moaned. Her eyes shut, warm tears trickling down her face, Hermione could feel his gaze borin down on her, and, for once, she was grateful for her unruly hair. The untameable mass of curls hid her eyes from him. Her words, as she begged, not for mercy, but for release, sounded distant and broken to her ears.

“Please, sir. Make me come.”

  
  
  



End file.
